


Side by Side by Side

by Vae



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:23:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One's impossible, two is boring, think what you can keep ignoring, side by side by side<br/>(with apologies to Sondheim)</p><p>After the Glam Nation tour ended, Adam's life was going to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side by Side by Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorchasilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorchasilver/gifts).



From the moment he’d stepped out onto the stage that first night in Wilkes Barre, Adam truly believed that his life was going to be different after the Glam Nation tour. He’d dismissed even the briefest thought that he might go back to sharing a one bedroom apartment in one of the sketchier neighborhoods lurking around the edges of WeHo, even if that _had_ happened briefly after the end of the Idol tour. After Glam Nation, though, he was a _success_. Not a huge success, maybe, but his profile was high, For Your Entertainment was selling well, he was getting the right gigs, he was filling bigger and bigger venues across the world. He was getting the right kind of media attention from the right kind of media.

His life was going to _change_.

Okay, he’d gone from nights on a tour bus and nights in hotels while he was touring to nights in a different hotel because he didn’t exactly have anywhere permanent to live yet, and way too much of his shit was in storage (mostly in his mom’s spare bedroom), but still, it was going to be different.

Tour meant Tommy or Monte or Isaac (or Isaac and Sophie, if it was one of those nights) or Cam (or Leisha and Cam) or Terrance or Brooke or Taylor or Sasha or just someone visiting his room sometime during the night, if it wasn’t a night they were sharing a bus anyway. Tour meant late night random conversations and Tommy getting stoned on the end of Adam’s bed until he panicked about hotel staff smelling the weed and started trying to open windows to flap the smell out with one of the bath towels and then falling asleep on the floor or in the bath or on a couch until Adam picked him up and pulled him into bed. It meant people around all the time.

Adam wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t wish for a little more privacy sometimes, but it was worth the price on the nights that Terrance curled up behind him to help him sleep without the movement of the bus, or the nights that Tommy got handsy and sloppy make out sessions blurred into sleep and shared morning showers.

He wouldn’t lie and say that after two days of a quiet hotel suite to himself, he wasn’t lonely. It wasn’t that he missed being on tour, exactly. It wasn’t that he missed performing five nights a week in four different cities (and sometimes three different states or countries). It wasn’t that he missed being surrounded by performers who all had their own needs and demands and egos rubbing up against each other, tempers fraying into tantrums and fights and… life. It wasn’t that he missed the travel and the relentless pace and the press and the pressure.

It was that he missed _all_ of it.

After two days, Adam firmly reminded himself that it was probably the same reaction as the end of the run of a show, adrenaline aftermath making him emotionally overreact, and went out to visit his dad. Several hours later, feeling looser and more grounded, with half-formed plans for the next day, he closed the door to his hotel suite with a sigh of relief, pulled off his boots and socks, and curled his toes into the carpet on his way to the living room.

“You took your time, princess.” Brad glanced up and held up his free hand, one finger raised, as he continued to paint his toenails with Adam’s newest bottle of OPI, tip of his tongue protruding slightly from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. “There. Okay, bitch, get over here and do _not_ smear my pedi.”

Adam didn’t move. “Brad?”

“In the flesh,” Brad agreed, held his hand out, and wiggled his fingers. “Ass over _here_ , you kept me waiting long enough already.”

Bemused, Adam dropped his boots and moved closer, taking one look at Brad’s feet – bare on the white hotel couch – before focusing back on Brad’s face and the raised eyebrows, the look of impatience that suggested that if Brad had been standing, those toes would have been tapping against the ground.

“Here,” Brad repeated, patting the three inches of couch next to him. “I can’t reach you up there, and you so should have called me before.”

“Before what?” Adam eyed Brad’s feet again, then gingerly perched on the edge of the couch, one leg outstretched for balance.

Brad sighed, reached up to curl a hand around the back of Adam’s neck, and pulled him down into a very thorough, very unexpected, and very welcome kiss. “Before now,” Brad said blithely, sounding way more together than Adam felt. “Bitch, please, I know what it means by now when you disappear from Twitter for more than twenty-four hours. You _know_ you can’t reach to lick all of those wounds on your own.”

“But…”

Brad cocked his head, lips pursed, then shook his head. “No. Not yet. Okay, so, we have half an hour while this dries, and you have lost _way_ too much weight, do _not_ even think about arguing with me, princess. When did you even last eat?”

Adam stopped, braced one hand against the arm of the couch (three inches wasn’t enough for security, even with a smaller ass, and he was proud of losing that weight), and tried to remember. “Dad gave me lunch.”

“And before that?” Brad stretched back, shirt riding up to give Adam a glimpse of perfectly smooth, perfectly flat, perfectly tempting stomach, and plucked the handset of the room phone from its cradle. “You know what, I don’t even care. You order both of us something disgustingly expensive from room service and some champagne on ice, and we’ll go from there.”

Adam took the phone automatically, still not quite sure why. “How did you even get in here?”

“Bitch, please.” Brad leveled a glare at Adam. “How long have I been talking to your security?”

“Hotel security,” Adam pointed out.

“They vouched for me.” Brad laid a hand on Adam’s forearm, fingers curled to dig unpainted nails into Adam’s arm. “Order. And don’t even think about pretending you haven’t got that whole menu memorized by now. Order everything you keep thinking you’re not allowed to enjoy.”

Adam blinked, startled back into focus by the sting of Brad’s nails, and ordered moules frites and Cristalle – “Dessert,” Brad prompted – and New York vanilla cheesecake. For two. “We did break up, right?”

“Details,” Brad dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You really want to talk about that now?”

Adam really didn’t.

“Good,” Brad said with satisfaction. “Now you can do my hands while we wait for that food.”

~~

Adam made sure that hotel security knew that Brad was free to come and go as he pleased. He also made sure that Brad had a copy of the keycard to the suite.

Sometimes, Brad came and stayed.

~~

Brad slotted back into Adam’s life almost like Idol had never happened, except with more acerbic comments on Adam’s choice of outfits and more space to live in. He still used Adam’s make-up, borrowed his clothes, confiscated his phone regularly when he decided that Adam needed a break, dragged Adam out to clubs that Adam hadn’t known existed, and made sure that Adam managed to get at least five hours of sleep in every twenty-four.

And, apparently, effortlessly organized things into Adam’s life that Adam needed to be there.

It was a little over a week since Brad first showed up in Adam’s hotel room that Adam got back in from a meeting with management to find a different man in his suite. There was a familiar bag slumped at one end of the couch, a guitar case propped behind it, and Tommy curled up sound asleep on it, his hoodie pulled up to half-cover his face.

Adam stopped, checked the door, fired off a quick text to Brad, and pulled a blanket off the bed to cover Tommy before calling down for coffee. By the time it arrived, he’d showered and changed, and once he’d tipped the guy who brought it, he cleaned off his make-up as well. Then he settled cross-legged on the bed, waiting for the smell of caffeine to get through to Tommy.

It didn’t take long.

Tommy’s hand emerged from the blanket, grasping at air, before he woke up enough to blink and push his hood back. “Oh, hey. Coffee?”

“Coffee,” Adam confirmed, amused. “But you’re gonna have to wake up enough to get it yourself.”

Tommy scowled, reached further, and promptly rolled off the couch, tangling himself in the blanket until it was cocooned around him. Dismissing that with a shrug, he stayed on the floor, bunching his knees up as he reached for the coffee. “So my apartment’s being fumigated,” he offered.

Adam nodded, shifting to press his feet together, sole to sole, hands on the sides of his knees, pushing down lightly, just enough to feel the stretch through his thighs. “Did you talk to Brad?”

Tommy blinked once, slowly, then bent his head forward to inhale the steam rising from the coffee mug he was cradling in both hands. “Does he know a good exterminator?”

It wasn’t exactly a no, but it wasn’t a yes either. It was probably as close to coherency as Adam was going to get until Tommy was caffeinated. “Probably,” Adam admitted. “Is Isaac out of town?”

“Man, you ask the weirdest questions.” Tommy wriggled, obviously caught in the blanket. “Have we got a gig?”

“Not for another month.” Adam paused, then let go of his knees, sliding down onto the floor and reaching to help disentangle Tommy without parting him from his coffee. “I thought you guys had a thing.”

“Yeah, well.” Tommy shrugged, rocking to the side to let Adam get to another fold of the blanket. “I guess it was a road thing.”

There was something under that, something sharp and sore, something that ached, and Adam reached out automatically, curling his arm around Tommy’s shoulders, as warm and solid as he could manage. “Sorry, baby.”

“Shit happens,” Tommy said philosophically, but he still leaned into Adam, giving up on trying to get out of his blanket. “You know where I can get any good weed around here? The shit I used to get isn’t… Amsterdam fucking spoiled me.”

Adam laughed, turned his head, and kissed Tommy’s hair, tightening his arm around Tommy for a long moment. “You know, I think I might know a guy who can help you out with that,” he promised, firmly ignoring that his suite was strictly no smoking.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to pay the cleaning charge.

~~

Adam got another keycard, and tipped security generously enough that he was fairly confident they wouldn’t start selling gossip or photos to TMZ.

~~

So apparently living in a hotel suite wasn’t that different than staying in a hotel overnight on tour. It was always the same hotel, so packing and unpacking was less of an issue (except when Brad lost patience with the way Adam treated his clothes and stood over him until he gathered them into some kind of order and sent a load off to hotel laundry services), and there was less traveling between, but there were still nights when Tommy randomly showed up with either weed or Jack or both, and there was still usually someone for Adam to curl up with at night and someone to help paint the nails of his right hand.

Sure, his life had changed. It just hadn’t changed as much as, or the way he’d, expected it to. Brad was… okay, Brad was Brad and never changed and Adam was grateful for that, continuity from his old life, real and demanding and grounding, and then there was Tommy, from tour and his new life, music dropping by to shoot the shit and keep him awake through the night – and still end up in make out sessions, sometimes.

Adam's old life and his new life were still mostly separate. If Brad was there on a night when Tommy showed up, Brad pulled a pillow over his head and firmly ignored Adam until he was out of the bedroom and sprawled on the couch with Tommy. If Tommy was around in the afternoon or evening when Brad let himself in, it would be less than half an hour before Tommy made excuses and left, or just wandered off without saying anything and Adam would find a text message later letting him know that Tommy was okay, just had shit to do.

It was baffling.

It wasn’t as if Brad and Tommy didn’t _like_ each other.

Adam lost patience, not that he had a great deal of it at the best of times. Living in a hotel trying to find a house to move into with two guys who both seemed determined to be part of his life but not part of each other’s and not actually tell Adam anything was a recipe for using up what was left of his patience. Desperate measures were called for.

He went out.

He turned off his phone.

He stayed out.

He couldn't go to his mom's place, because Brad would call there. That ruled out Dani and Cass as well, and Lee and Scarlett. He couldn't go to Monty's place, because Tommy would call there, and that ruled out Sophie and Isaac too. Probably. Some day he was going to find out what had happened with Sophie and Isaac and Tommy, but not until he'd found out what was going on with him and Brad and Tommy.

Five hours would be enough time for both Brad and Tommy to figure out he was missing, and probably enough time for them both to turn up at his hotel. Five hours was a very long time with his phone turned off. After three hours, Adam decided he could simply ignore messages, and turned his phone back on again.

Angry Birds killed another hour.

When Adam found himself seriously considering downloading Run Zombies Run on the basis that Tommy would like it, he gave in, and checked his messages. The notification had been sitting there since before Angry Birds, but he'd been strong. He'd resisted.

He'd cleared it and ordered another coffee and started a new level.

Five messages really wasn't excessive. Five messages was even gratifying. Four from Brad, one from Tommy... and nothing new for the last hour.

Adam frowned at his phone, finished his soy latte, hailed a cab, and went back to the hotel.

~~

One thing had succeeded: both Brad and Tommy were in his hotel suite, at the same time. Adam hadn't thought through his plan much further than that, but if he had, he'd maybe have hoped that they'd be naked, or at least making out. Possibly, if they weren't doing that, they might have been calling people, looking for him.

What he _hadn’t_ expected - and on reflection, really should have - was that they’d both be sitting on his couch, tense and sharp, and that he'd be greeted with stereo glares.

Which was a shame, because that was what was waiting for him in his suite.

Adam took a step back, and seriously considered going out again. His mom would probably give him sanctuary.

Then again, his mom liked Brad. And Tommy. And her son not behaving like a dick.

Brad unfolded his arms, patted Tommy's shoulder, and stood up, glare not fading. "So," he said, deceptively silky smooth. At least deceptive to anyone who hadn't heard that tone from Brad before. "This is where you tell us that your phone battery ran down."

It was tempting. Really fucking tempting, but then again... Adam had probably screwed up enough without lying. "I turned it off," he admitted. "I wanted to get you both together, fuck, Brad, _wait..._ " He reached out, caught Brad's arm, tried to stop Brad from pushing past him towards the door. "Brad, please, just..."

"Just what?" Brad snapped, pulling his arm free. "Let go, Adam. You _scared_ us, you asshole. You... No. I don't want to look at you right now. I _really_ don't want to talk to you."

"Just don't _go_ ," Adam tried, fear growing, clutching cold at his stomach. "Please..."

" _I_ should go," Tommy muttered behind him.

Adam turned, swift and shocked, to see Tommy standing up as well, shoulders hunched. Where Brad's arms had been folded, Tommy's were tighter, wrapped around himself, his head lowered. "No, Tommy Joe. It's... Both of you. I mean, I don’t want anyone to go."

"There's one word missing," Brad said sharply.

"Please?" Adam tried. He was pretty sure he'd said it already, but that had been to Brad, not to Tommy.

"Not that one." Brad hadn't left, at least, but he didn't sound anywhere near happy.

Shit, right. "I'm sorry," Adam said, more confidently and with a certain amount of relief. "Really. I'm sorry. It's just... like you guys have been trading off or taking shifts or something and I wanted to get you both together and..."

"And you couldn't fucking say that?" Tommy shook his head, fingers digging into his own sleeves, skin white around the darkness of his nail polish. "You couldn't, I don't know, ask me to stay? Or ask him?"

Put that way, it did seem like a simpler solution. That or asking one of them, but it had definitely felt like more of a both of them together conversation. "You're not even using Brad's name," Adam pointed out, looking back at Brad again. "Just... sit down. Please. Both of you. I'm sorry, I fucked up, I get it. I do. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_ , please. Don't go. Just someone tell me what's going on here."

"You're being a shit," Brad said shortly, came back into the room, and walked around the couch, crouching down next to the end where Tommy was curling up again.

"I'm trying not to," Adam said honestly, hesitating, unsure if it was safe to go closer or if that would send them both away again.

Brad snorted. "Try harder."

There really wasn't much Adam could say to that. He shifted his weight slightly to the right, nodded, and looked down at both of them. "Can I come over there?"

Tommy held out his hand without hesitation, much to Adam's relief. He followed the invitation, collapsing on the couch with one leg folded underneath him, taking Tommy's hand to kiss it before offering an arm for Tommy to tuck under.

"Hey," Brad said, pitched low. "Okay, baby?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer, noticed that Brad wasn't looking at him, and closed his mouth again.

"I'm good." Tommy rubbed his head against Adam's shoulder, and took a deep breath, chest rising and falling against Adam's side. "I'm good, I'm just fucking... I'm... good."

"And no one wants or expects you to go." Brad slid his hand over Tommy's free hand, holding on, much to Adam's surprise.

"Fuck, no," Adam agreed, startled as he was. "In case you didn't get that from the whole please don't go thing."

Tommy laughed, short and dry, not lifting his head. "I got it. I'm not going. I'm not." Still tense, but not moving away.

"Good." Adam leaned in to kiss Tommy's forehead, eyes on Brad, eyebrows lifted in a question. Something was going on that Brad knew about, clearly, but not something Adam knew about. Not yet. "Is this something you want to tell me about?"

"Not," Brad said firmly, "until you tell us a few things."

"Right." Adam paused, looking down at Tommy. "Is that good with you, Tommy Joe?"

“Works for me.” Tommy took another deep breath. “Fuck, I need a beer. Something.”

“No, you don’t.” Brad’s hand tightened on Tommy’s arm. “Everyone stays sober, no one runs away, and _after_ we get high as fuck on the catharsis. Deal?”

Catharsis really didn’t sound like whatever Brad had in mind was going to be any kind of fun, but fine. Adam knew he’d screwed up and if it meant Brad and Tommy both staying _and_ getting a chance to work out how not to fuck up so epically another time, it was worth it. “Vodka and pot,” Adam said, nearly as confidently as Brad. “And Brad gets up off the floor.”

“Please, like I’m letting go right now.” Brad gave Adam a pointed look.

Adam looked at Tommy and conceded that okay, Brad kind of had a point beyond actual stubbornness. Still, that didn’t mean there was only one solution. “Up,” he insisted, leaned sideways in a way that his chiropractor was really going to bitch at him about, and hauled Tommy across onto his lap, leaving room for Brad to sit on the couch and still hold onto Tommy.

Tommy yelped but cooperated, not squirming until Adam had him firmly settled again. “Okay, shit, fine, deal, who’s saying what?”

“Adam is.” Brad slid over the arm of the couch into Tommy’s space, still holding Tommy’s arm, and pushed his knee against Adam’s thigh. “Like, now.”

“Which would help if I knew what I was saying,” Adam pointed out, and tightened his arm around Tommy when it felt like Tommy was pulling away. “Shit, okay, I’m talking.” And he had to start somewhere, so, basics were good. Probably. “So, right. I mean, Brad, you know Tommy and me, we’re…” Really basic, but fuck, he’d never talked to anyone about labels, and it wasn’t really dating because it wasn’t like he was taking Tommy out to dinner or anything like that. Then again, he wasn’t doing that with Brad, either.

“Screwing around,” Tommy supplied.

Adam’s arm fell slack. “Wait, fuck, what?”

Tommy shrugged, head ducking forward to let his hair fall down over his face. “We are, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…” But. Lots of but. But apparently Adam had fucked up way more than just one time.

Brad sighed, tucked his feet underneath him, and rolled onto his knees on the couch. “So, this is where words are good and neither of you are _ever_ telling anyone else I am counseling the shit out of your relationship.”

“We haven’t got a relationship,” Tommy said, flat and even. “We’re friends.”

“No, baby, we’re way more than friends.” Adam paused, sliding his hand up to push fingers into Tommy’s hair, combing it back from his face and wondering if this conversation was going to mean he couldn’t thank Brad with a blow job later. “Aren’t we?”

“Are we?” Tommy lifted his eyes to Adam’s face, head leaning back into Adam’s hand as Adam increased the pressure of his touch to provide support.

“We should be.” At least, Adam thought they should be. Had believed they were, but thinking back, he’d definitely failed in showing that. “Do you wanna be?”

Tommy’s eyes widened, darkened, and he licked his lips. (Adam refused to get distracted by how pink Tommy’s tongue was.) “Not just a road thing?”

Sometime, Adam was going to find out what the fuck had happened with Tommy and Isaac and Sophie, and kick somebody’s ass for putting that look on Tommy’s face. “Never just a road thing,” he said firmly, and tightened his fingers in Tommy’s hair until Tommy’s eyes closed and his lips parted on a soft gasp that sent a shimmer of dark satisfaction through Adam. “You may not have noticed this, but I kind of suck at casual.”

Except for one night stands, admittedly, and occasionally sleeping with his friends when he was actually single, but Adam hadn’t considered himself entirely single for months. Not single enough to look, anyway, but when two amazing guys had practically fallen into his lap, he wasn’t stupid enough to look for someone else.

Just stupid enough not to actually let those guys know how amazing they were, apparently.

“And,” Brad put in dryly, “in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s amazingly good at sucking.”

Adam automatically drove his elbow towards where he remembered Brad’s ribs being, and missed. “So…”

“So,” Tommy echoed, swallowed, and opened his eyes halfway, lids still low, lashes impossibly beautifully long and shading his eyes. “You wanna…?”

“I wanna,” Adam agreed, then yelped when Brad’s far better aimed elbow went into his own side. “Shit, ow, fuck, what?”

“Words,” Brad said firmly. “Ones you both understand. Actual words.”

“Bossy little fucker,” Tommy said, pulled hard against Adam’s hand until Adam let go, then wriggled around on Adam’s lap to kiss him.

As far as Adam was concerned, that was better than any words could have been, and much easier to understand. He stroked a single finger under Tommy’s chin, letting the pad of his fingertip rasp against the day’s stubble, then curved his hand around the back of Tommy’s neck to deepen the kiss. Slow and easy, warm and confident, tongue curling deep into Tommy’s mouth, sharing the heat as much as the relief and pleasure of the moment, until Tommy pulled back.

“No one runs away,” Tommy said, quiet but very firm, and Adam blinked before turning his head to follow Tommy’s gaze to Brad.

To Brad, halfway off the couch.

“No one,” Adam repeated with a nod.

“Hey, my work here is done.” Brad shrugged, sliding another few inches forward. “Except for the bit where you guys haven’t used words yet, but…”

“I have words that say sit the fuck down,” Adam said. “No one running away means you too. Right, Tommy Joe?”

“Yeah. Right.” Tommy grinned, and leaned sideways to catch Brad’s hand. “Because I know you guys are together.”

“Well,” Brad said, sharp and brittle, “then you know way more than I do.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, kissed Tommy again, more lightly and more briefly, then let go of him to reach out to Brad. “Suck,” he pointed out. “So this word thing, is that you wanting them or you wanting me to say them to Tommy?”

“I think both,” Tommy said thoughtfully, moving back – and back, until he’d slid down to the his knees on the floor, shuffling sideways in front of Brad. “But you kinda need to say them anyway.”

There were a lot of words Adam needed to say, but basics hadn’t worked, so that left him with essentials. Big, scary, fuck-off terrifying essentials that hadn’t gone so well last time he’d tried saying them to Brad. He let his hand drop to the couch behind Brad and took a slow breath, trying not to look down when solid warmth against his leg told him that Tommy was leaning in against him.

It made it easier, somehow. “I love you,” Adam said simply, and waited for the world to end.

The world didn’t end.

Brad’s calm did. “And that makes everything okay? You love me, so you get to be a shit, so you get to just go with whatever and let it happen, so you get to crawl out of my bed and go to someone else, so you get to – ”

“Details,” Adam reminded Brad. That word had caught in his memory, stayed there, the way Brad had dismissed details, the way the time they should have talked had slid aside.

Brad’s mouth dropped open, then closed in a flat, firm line. “Oh, no, you do _not_ get to pull that shit on me, princess. You can’t live without me, your life goes to _shit_ without me, you don’t look after yourself, you don’t _think_ without me there to call you on your shit, you - ”

“Love you,” Adam repeated, more confidently, hope rising brighter and hotter in his chest as Brad went on. He knew Brad, he knew what started that kind of tirade, he knew what dropped Brad’s usually viciously targeted vocabulary into repetitive cursing. “And you love me, and you need to take care of me as much as I need you to call me on my shit, and I don’t _want_ to live without you.”

“I…” Brad clamped his jaw shut, still and straight and tense.

“And,” Adam continued, relieved, elated, and aching, “you’re just as scared as I am. So will you get over here already?”

Brad looked downwards and raised an eloquent eyebrow.

Tommy snorted, reached up, and pulled Brad across onto Adam’s lap, a sharp collapse of knees and elbows that took several minutes to untangle into something Adam could wrap his arms around, long enough for Brad’s vibrating tension to turn to shivering.

“Words,” Adam said softly, one arm hooked over Brad’s legs, the other firmly around his back. “Unless you’re planning on walking out on me.”

“What happened to no running away?” Brad’s voice was thinner and tighter, and his frustration with that was clearly shown in the way his eyebrows drew together the moment he heard it.

“Walking out’s different,” Tommy said, pushing up from the floor to lean on Adam’s knees. “Walking out’s intentional. Walking out means you know what you’re leaving behind.”

Adam grinned. “What he said. So, are you going? Or are you using words?”

Brad’s hand spread flat on Adam’s chest, fingers wide. “You need me.”

“I need you,” Adam agreed. “And you need me.”

“And I need you to _not be an asshole_ ,” Brad said plainly, enunciating very precisely. “No more sneaking out of bed when you’re in it with me.”

Adam hesitated, glancing at Tommy.

Brad rolled his eyes. “He comes into bed _with_ us, God, I need to get you to talk to Cassidy, sometimes you are _so_ conventional, what happened to being open-minded?”

“With us?” Adam looked across at Tommy again, caught on the way Tommy’s teeth were sinking into his bottom lip. “You want that, baby?”

Tommy nodded slowly. "And if we're in bed first, he - Brad - comes in with us."

Which sounded pretty good to Adam, but still... "And if I'm out late, and one of you guys is here, and the other one comes in...?"

"If you're out late, one of us is gonna be with you," Tommy pointed out. "If you're working, I'm gonna be there. If you're clubbing, Brad's gonna be there."

"He's got a point." Brad curled his fingers, pressing nails against Adam's chest. "So why don't you just say it?"

"Because you still haven't said anything, and _ow_." Adam covered Brad's hand with his own, tugging it free of his shirt. "Maybe I need to hear it too."

"And maybe both of you need to stop saying shit like maybe." Tommy wrapped his hand around Adam's calf, squeezing. "Unless you wanna talk all night."

Brad turned his hand to take Adam's, interlacing their fingers and digging his nails into the back of Adam's hand for a moment before easing back. "Fine. Okay. Adam, I love you, we're doing this, and next time you want something, you _tell me_. Or Tommy Joe. Or both of us, but I swear, if you pull the kind of shit you did this afternoon ever again, I'm not just gonna call your mom, I'm gonna call your PR team and tell them you've dropped off the grid."

Adam winced. "Tell me you didn't call my mom today?"

"We didn't call your mom today," Tommy said obligingly. "Or I didn't."

Adam turned his attention to Brad, and waited.

"Fine, I didn't call your mom." Brad sighed, dramatic and long suffering. "But don't think I won't if you try that again."

"I'll text if my cell battery is _ever_ getting low," Adam promised hastily. "Both of you."

"Not me, my cell's more likely to be dead than yours." Tommy leaned his head against Adam's knee.

Adam peered around Brad. "Do you wanna come up here?" Because there was one thing they really hadn't discussed, and he wasn't going to let that get ignored and come back to bite any of them later.

Brad wriggled back until his ass slid from Adam's thigh onto the couch. "Come up here so Adam can use words."

Adam resisted the urge to bite Brad's ear, or his fingers. "Which ones?"

"Whichever ones you mean," Brad said sweetly and swung his feet neatly over Tommy's head.

"Fuck you," Adam said equally sweetly, held his hand out to Tommy, and pulled him up onto the couch. Brad on one side, Tommy on the other... "How about if I use them to ask if you boys are interested in each other?"

Tommy hesitated before leaning against Adam's side. "Do we need to be?"

"Not if you don't wanna be," Adam said softly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want."

"It would make things easier, though..." Brad rolled to the side onto all fours, resting his hands on Adam's thigh. "Come here, baby."

"One of us is gonna have to find a new pet name," Adam ran his hand lightly over Tommy's hair. "Only if you want to, Tommy Joe."

"I'm good with trying." Tommy shrugged, kissed Adam's cheek, and mirrored Brad's movement.

"No one's gonna throw you out if you don't want me," Brad said, serious for once. "Honestly, baby boy. You can say no. Any time. Don't bullshit me."

"No bull," Tommy said with a faint grin, leaned in, hands pressing heavier on Adam's thigh, and kissed Brad.

It wasn't a brief kiss. It wasn't a peck and done. It wasn't something that either Brad or Tommy were pulling away from. It _was_ the first time Adam had the opportunity to witness exactly how responsive Tommy was up close and personal without actually being part of it, and it was even hotter than he'd imagined. He'd never been able to appreciate the way Tommy looked with his eyes closed, with his head tilted back, following the direction of a hand against his jaw... of Brad's hand, holy shit.

(It wasn't the first time he'd seen Brad kissing another guy, but that was still different when it was Tommy.)

Brad drew back slowly, tenderness in the way his hold on Tommy's jaw turned into a caress, openness in the way Tommy rolled his head into that caress. "Oh, that is so not gonna be a problem."

Tommy hummed low agreement, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. "We're done talking, right?"

"We are _totes_ done talking," Brad agreed.

"Fuck, I love you," Adam said happily, giddy with relief.

"Which you?" Tommy asked, opening his eyes to look at Brad, then Adam.

"Both of you," Adam said without hesitation.

"And _those_ are the words you needed," Brad concluded.

**Author's Note:**

> It is now traditional for me to be late with promised fics, and also to go wildly over wordcount. Still, delivery of this comes close to a birthday, so happy birthday, darling sorchasilver.
> 
> Thanks, as ever, to my thorough and long suffering lvs2read for beta services and hammering the Britishisms from my writing, and to the ladies of the Kradam mailing list for encouragement (even though they're probably wondering when I'm going to write any actual Kradam).


End file.
